Murphy's Law Undone
by achildofthestars
Summary: HouseCam. Murphy is a man on a mission. And his law? It lives word for word by the true Murphy's Law he was named after. What's House to do when he's dragged into the cruel games of life and death?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Soooo...I'm not sure where this is going to go...or if it's even going to go off at all. **

* * *

0.0

Setting: The bar is dimly lit, the shades drawn over the windows  
to hide them from the dark night. House and Cameron sit on the  
floor beside the bar stools, under the countertop. She's the worst,  
the bruises on her face and neck showing darkly while the hidden  
ones under her dark blue blouse paining her with every breath.

-

"What do you think people will remember most about today?"

"The brilliant and ruggedly handsome doctor overcoming his crippled body to save the life of a young, naïve, smoking hot woman."

Taking a breath, rushed and light, she shook her head, blonde hair freely moving upon her shoulders and down her back as if on purpose. Her fingers splayed flush against the warm faux wood beside her right thigh and she wondered whether her failing energy would allow her to lie down one more time, maybe with her head resting in his lap as a sort of last request.

"I think the 'brilliant and ruggedly handsome' additions are an exaggeration."

Turning his head away from the closed front door, he almost smiled at her, the corner of the right side of his lip threatening to rise at her small barb. Then it died before embracing his lips as the door of the bar opened and the sound of a car echoed through the air before becoming hushed as the door whispered shut with a click that made him flinch.

"And 'young, naïve, smokin' hot' isn't?"

There was no reason to look to the door since she already knew there wasn't anything more she needed to see in that lone place. What she needed to see was staring back at her, giving her nothing, asking for nothing, and needing nothing. That was nice to know – he never changed.

"Everyone knows I'm hot."

Neither looked away in embarrassment or slight fear, not minding the quick shuffle of shoes on newly waxed wood in the averaged sized bar they'd spent more time than they wanted to allow, never with each other until this absurdly forced fateful night that was all about symbolizing their freedoms and greatness. When they heard the woman's voice struggling to hang onto sanity, onto her life, they turned their attention regretfully.

"You don't have to do this." The tight voice of 13, Remy Hadley, floated through, not quite falling to the floor to anchor itself among the inevitable ruins.

"No, I don't." The voice was low and thick, bordering on raspy that should've been recorded on CDs rather than being forgotten on soundless footage to be viewed the next morning.

* * *

1.1

Setting: House slumped over his table in one of the booths.

-

What must have roused him was the unusual quietness of Ryan's Bar on a usually loud and vicious Fourth of July. House opened his left eye, realizing at once he had passed out with his head on the table because everything was situated at an odd 180 degree angle. The slightly smoky air held the already low lights in a haze that was still too bright for this first glance into the waking world, and so House closed the one eye.

The sound of the overhead fans in their slow cycle of circulating air so that the drinkers and smokers wouldn't drown in the smell of heat or sweat of the crowded bar began to grate on his senses. Even from somewhere behind him he heard the air kicking on with a sort of dangerous rumble that reminded him he was actually cold, but he had no intention of moving a single voluntary muscle fiber.

That was, until he heard the tell-tale electronic blipping of someone pressing on the small buttons of a cell phone near his head. House jerked upright, the motion causing his vision to blur and his head to feel as if the brain encased inside would fling out through his ears.

"Careful, Dr. House. You've had quite a bit to drink."

* * *

1.2

Setting: The man has light brown hair with equally golden eyes  
to match. He sits erect, towering over House's nearly slumped  
form, though in truth, he's barely taller than the crippled. His dark  
green button up shirt has one pocket that's empty. There's a  
shoulder holster carrying one semi-automatic weapon. There's  
no doubt he knows how to use it.

-

"Who the hell are you?" House scratched out.

"Would you like some water? You sound like you need it."

Instead of answering, House reached to the floor for his cane, only to realize it wasn't where he left it.

"You get your jollies playing cranks on the handicapped? Give me my damn cane. And my phone!"

* * *

1.3

"Look around you, Dr. House. Don't you wonder why we are the only ones here?"

"I'm not here to play games."

House began to stand, fully intending to buy another cane and another phone. Before he had his bearings, the man slammed the phone down on the hand holding his body up. The crack wasn't loud, but House knew what it meant.

"You son of a –!"

The tip of the gun barrel was warm against his cheek, unlike in the many novels he'd read where it was cool and crisp.

"We are not finished, Dr. House. Sit."

* * *

1.4

"You gonna kill me?"

"I don't think so."

"You gonna shoot me? Hate to spoil the fun, but you're not the first."

The man smiled softly before shrugging his left shoulder. "We'll see."

The answer would have shut up anyone but House. "What do you want, then?"

* * *

1.5

Setting: The man places House's phone  
in the center of the table.

-

"Call Dr. Cameron."


	2. Chapter 2

2.1

Setting: House holds his injured right hand close  
to his chest while staring at the phone placed  
before him.

-

"Dr. House? Must I repeat myself?"

"Who are you?" House looked to the man, waiting for the answer.

"I asked you to call Dr. Cameron."

"Who _are_ you?"

"You're quite persistent. It's nice to see your reputation is true. I am Murphy, Dr. House."

* * *

2.2

"What do want with Cameron?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Look, if you're that hard up to get to see her, you could just go down to the ER and – ."

"Call her."

"She's not nearly as fun as you think she is."

"Call her."

"She's not even that pretty."

"Call her."

"I've known her for four years, you're not missing anything."

* * *

2.3

"Martin! Bring out the man! Ah, no, Dr. House, turn around."

In that instant, House hated guns more than clinic duty. They held too much power he didn't have, especially the one that was once again aimed at his head.

* * *

3.1

Setting: The owner of the bar is gagged, his wrists  
bound together so tightly, blood is marring the  
ties. Martin places the owner in a chair and  
stands behind him while Murphy's gun changes  
position and aims at the scared man.

-

"Call Dr. Cameron."

"If you seriously think I care about this man enough to save him from certain death, you're delusional."

Murphy stared at House, his expression telling nothing at all. "Why is this man wearing a sweatshirt in July?"

House's mouth opened before he completely thought about the reason, but the words halted bitterly as realization dawned. He could suddenly feel the sweat beginning to form on his neck.

"No…."

Still looking at House, Murphy nodded his head. "Martin, raise the shirt."

3.2

* * *

He was right. The guy had a bomb strapped to his chest. Great. Just fucking great.

"Alright, he's strapped." House stopped himself before adding 'so what.'

"You do not care your life depends on his?"

"I figure neither one of us is getting out alive to begin with."

"And you are fine with that?"

"Between this and dying of hepatic and renal failure that's only a few years away? Yeah."

Murphy softly chuckled as he waved for Martin to lower the man's shirt. "You are something else, Dr. House."

"So I've heard."

"Well," Murphy placed his gun back into the holster. "I will call Mick to shoot her now."

* * *

3.3

"What? No!"

"You would not call her."

"You don't need her!"

"I do."

"What could you possibly need her for?"

3.4

* * *

"You call her," Murphy rapped the table with his knuckles. "Then, she does not die."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"I will say it one more time, Dr. House."

"I'm not doing anything for you."

"Do I seem like a joking man? All you have to do is call her and ask her to come here." Murphy leaned back in his seat with a shrug of his shoulders. "Or she dies. It is up to you."

4.1

* * *

Setting: House holds the phone in his left hand  
hesitantly before punching the 5 on speed dial.

-

One ring. _Don't pick up. _Two ring. Don't pick up. Three ring. _Don't pick up. _Four. _Damn._

"Cameron? Yeah, I know it's two in the morning. Look, yeah, yeah, I _know_, Cameron."

House glanced towards the bomb man whose nose was beginning to bleed before meeting Murphy's light brown gaze.

"I just…if you could…" he rubbed his forehead roughly. "It's the bar on fourth street. The only one you guys go to….No, there's no one else I can call….Look, don't come, alright?….I'm an idiot….I know….Fine."

4.2

* * *

Setting: He shuts the phone softly before  
tossing it on the table.

-

"She's not coming. Kill us so my ghost can stick its cane up your ass."

"I did not say she _must _come."

"But you said –."

"I said to call her and ask her to come here. Her answer is irrelevant."

House lowered his head in something near to frustration before raising his eyes to Murphy's.

"Do not be discouraged, Dr. House."

* * *

4.3

"I'm not."

"You shouldn't be." Murphy pulled out his gun.

"Just get it over with."

House watched his captor, wanting the man to watch his death though it would probably mean nothing.

"As you wish."

5.1

* * *

The two gunshots drummed in his ears long after it was fired, probably more due to his imagination than the actual sound since Murphy had an excellent silencer. House watched the owner's eyes widen in fear before the bullet pierced his cranium with a sound not quite describable and his entire body slumped out of the chair to be caught by Martin.

"You thought I would kill you?"

The answer was an equivocal, 'duh,' but House said nothing as he looked back to Martin dragging the body across the floor to the backroom where he'd been held before.

"Your Dr. Cameron is a nice woman."

"What?"

"She's a very considerate person, wouldn't you agree?"

"…."

* * *

A/N: Ah...so this story is pretty much dead. LOL But that's okay. That's okay.


End file.
